Reviving the Eternal Spring
by detectivejigsaw
Summary: Despair was extremely familiar to the Pines family, especially during Weirdmageddon. None of them expected Hope to show up afterwards. Drabble fic with an unashamedly schmaltzy ending.


**This was mainly written because I liked the metaphor I came up with, and wanted a chance to use it (****and ****_definitely not_**** because I wanted another chance to tug on your heartstrings, honest****).**

**...Oh, don't get all judgmental on me; it's not like you jokers don't do the same thing, given the chance.**

* * *

Despair was extremely familiar to the Pines family.

It was almost like an old, old friend; the kind of friend who comes over to your party uninvited and eats all your cocktail shrimp because she knows you're too much of a pushover to kick her out.

This particular recent time span (nobody was sure how much time had actually passed during Weirdmageddon, or if it had passed at all to the outside world) had been especially prevalent in the despair area. Thinking the world was about to be destroyed because of various acts of foolishness by each of them; various groups thinking they would have to watch the others be killed; thinking that the world had been ultimately saved at what they realized was a far too terrible price. Yes, Despair had been lounging on the metaphorical sofa for ages, hogging the remote and saying that you wouldn't mind getting her a glass of ice water, would you, as long as you were standing?

None of them, particularly not Ford, had expected the day to end with Hope knocking on the front door, bearing a broom and trash bags and offering to help clean up Despair's mess after she kicked her to the curb.

* * *

Ford leaned against the back of the battered yellow armchair, staring down at his brother in a sort of bemused exhaustion as he in turn stared at the pictures in the scrapbook and rehashed memories from earlier this summer with the kids. Sounding increasingly more and more like himself with each story he remembered.

Vaguely the old nerd was aware that at some point other problems would have to be taken care of-they needed to figure out if it was worth trying to spend the night in the dilapidated remains of the house, or if they should go to town and find out if anyone would be willing to put them up until they could get repairs done; they needed to have various injuries checked over; they needed to-

The children were falling asleep on either side of Stan, curled up and looking right at home in his arms, and Soos was snoring and drooling on the arm of the chair; Waddles had climbed down and made himself at home draped over Stan's feet. Ford decided that maybe decisions could wait until they'd all gotten a little rest.

And then, for the first time since the clearing, Stan turned his head and looked directly up at him.

* * *

His eyes were still not completely his own-and not just because they weren't glaring or drawn together in hurt like they'd been any time they looked at Ford since he came home; just confused. At least they weren't horrible and blank like they had been, though.

Ford's stomach twisted even so, wondering what he should say now, if he should say anything at all, how much did Stan remember about him, what if-

Stan prodded his extra fingers. "Cool hands. You probably make great shadow puppets."

The words, full of innocent interest, made his stomach give an especially violent twist. "You always thought so."

His brother laughed softly. "I believe it, with those six fingers-"

His mouth fell open in a tiny gasp, and his eyes widened behind their glasses.

Ford's breath hitched, and his thoughts scrambled over each other in a mad attempt to decide his next course of action. Before a consensus could be reached, though, Stan lifted his hand, spreading it wide and turned to face him. Then he asked, in a hesitant tone that was uncomfortably similar to the last time he'd asked it, "High six?"

For a second Ford actually had to wonder why his eyesight had gotten so blurry. Then he maneuvered around the chair until he was at the right angle to reach forward and wrap his arms around his brother. And this time he felt Stan's free arm curl around his ribs and squeeze gently in return.

"High six," he whispered into Stan's fez, smiling.

* * *

(Hope finished throwing away the last of the shrimp tails Despair had left behind, and dusted off her hands with a satisfied smile.)

* * *

**In case you didn't know, the title comes from the saying "hope springs eternal."**

**Just to clarify.**


End file.
